Local Politics Ch. 03

Why, I asked myself as I walked out of the council offices, had I not told Butcher to go and fuck herself? I was mulling this when I almost bumped into a woman just outside the law courts.

"Catherine, you're away with the fairies." It took me a while to process that this woman in her black trouser suit and white shirt was Rosie. I'd never seen her in her working clothes and I hardly recognised her. I told her so and she laughed. "Well, I don't think my club attire would go down well with the court. Fancy a coffee? Something stronger?"

We made our way to a small, hole in the wall type pub that I'd never known existed and she ordered a couple of large whiskies without asking me what I wanted. We went to a table in the corner and sat.

"Are you always dressed like a student for work?" I was wearing a baggy sweater and jeans.

"Pretty much these days. I'm off the local government desk and doing a feature." I told her about the kids being taught practical skills as they refurbish their school.

"Don't turn too many away from crime, it'll put me out of a job."

Then it dawned on me that Rosie would be the perfect person to talk to about Butcher. So, I did. Rosie listened intently. I got a glimpse of how studious she could be.

"She hates me because I challenged her during an interview. She told me at the end that 'women like us should stick together.'"

"Really? Christ."


"Then, just before I left the council offices I was in the lift with her and she sort of closed in on me and said something about me needing a firm hand and her being just the woman to give it to me."

"Wow, she's got the hots for you."

"I think she was threatening."

"Well, for sure she was. But, well, girls like me recognise girls like you. No, no, don't be embarrassed. How did I know, that first time?"

~

That first time. God, how many times have I masturbated remembering it?

It was a Saturday and I'd gone to the Bell Tower. I didn't know Rosie at all, nor did I know it was her favourite pub. I saw her. She looked fabulous to my eyes, all in black. Her hair was black too and cut short. She was about 5' 8" tall and slender. 'Dyke perfection' sprang to my mind. I stood staring, a little mesmerised then made my way to the bar and ordered a large gin and tonic.

"It's rude to stare." I nearly spilt my drink. I turned and there she was, right up close and the smile on her lips told me she wasn't giving me a hard time.

"It's hard not to," I said when I got my thoughts together.

"Now, why might that be, er, your name?"


"Catherine."

"Why might that be, Catherine?" She pronounced all three syllables of my name. "I'm Rosie."

I looked down at what I learned over time was her habitual pub companion, her packer.

"Oh no," she said, "You couldn't have seen that." She put her hand on her hip, her finger pointing directly at the little bulge in her tight black leggings. "What made you stare?"

Now, I may be on the 'sub' side of the spectrum but I can do straight talking. "I thought you looked what I call dyke perfection."

She smiled warmly. "Well, you look what I call very lovely." Her fingertips traced my chin and I thought, fuck me, she doesn't hang about. "What does dyke perfection mean to you?"

"Some butch women dress and behave like they are men. Dyke perfection means someone who is butch, but happily female."

Her arm slipped across my shoulders, pulling me tight to her side. "Very perceptive. I like my women feminine." It was a warm summer evening and I'd chosen a floaty, white dress that did little to hide my tits. She ran her hand up my bare arm and then across my throat. "That dress would look even better if you wore a necklace. Pearls would be too much white. Maybe," she hesitated, watching my eyes, "maybe something black. Leather perhaps." Before I could say anything she called the bar girl and ordered us both another drink. "Shall we take them into the garden? It's a lovely evening."

We sat in the pub's little garden and talked. After a while, she said, "Why don't you come home with me?"

We walked, my arm through hers, to her large apartment overlooking the river and, as I looked at the view, she stood behind me and kissed my neck and bare shoulders. Her hands moved to cup my girls and she thumbed my nipples. Then she turned me around and kissed my mouth. The kiss started gently enough but grew harder and she slipped her hand inside my dress and took my nipple between her fingers. She squeezed it between her nails, not enough to hurt, but enough for me to know she could and might.

Still kissing me hard and holding my nipple, her other hand went under the dress and discovered wispy knickers. They were not tight and her finger slid inside and caressed my lips.

For my part, I had my hands around her shoulders as we kissed, but as she touched my breast, so I touched hers and, when her finger went inside my knickers, I placed my hand on her little bump.

Rosie broke the kiss and whispered, "Would you like to see the, er, useful version?"

In her bedroom, I sat on the bed as she slipped her leggings off and the boi shorts with the packer in them and took a strapon from the bedside table drawer. She placed it on the bed beside me.

"That's for later. First, we get acquainted. Take your dress off."

When we were both naked, we kissed again and our hands roamed freely over each other. I could tell she wanted, needed to be in charge but also that she was taking it slowly, testing the water, testing me.

She was gentle with me, kissing me and gradually increasing the pressure of her kiss. Her tongue delved into my mouth and I welcomed it. Then she sat on the bed, her knees spread wide. "Down, girl."

And down I went to my knees. She reached forward and taking me by my hair guided me to her cunt, rubbing my nose to her wet flesh before moving so my mouth was on her. I needed no instructions then. I lavished attention on her depths, sucking her lips, her clit and teasing her with my tongue.

"Oh, you're good. I do love a talented tongue." She never let go of my hair, but nor did she grip too hard. This, I thought, is about control, not about violence. After a little while she pulled me up and we lay beside each other, kissing and touching. I almost jumped when her finger entered me, so much had I been anticipating it and so long had she kept me waiting.

I watched as she stood, and strapped her harness on, watching me all the time.

"How do you like it best? Missionary or doggy?" She had a beautiful smile on her lips and it went all the way to her eyes.

"You choose, Rosie."

"Answer my question."

"Doggy."

"Please is always polite."

"Doggy, please."

"Well, get on your knees then."

And that was the first time, but not the last that Rosie fucked me. She started slowly, working the nice, sensible sized cock into me carefully, making sure I was comfortable. Then she started to increase the pace until it was fast, hard and utterly amazing. Towards the end, she bent over me, her nipples hard and her hands under me, holding my tits and squeezing my nipples. She came before me, which was a bit of surprise. But, ever the generous lover, she kept thrusting until my orgasm came screaming out of me.

~

Rosie lent close to me and said, "I fucked you hard that night, didn't I?"

"You did. How did you know?"

"It is, I think, about demeanour. Girls like you sort of offer themselves, where girls like me take. I'm not a cruel top, just a control freak I guess. But I did enjoy that first time with you. Would you like some advice?"

"About?"

"La, or is it Le, Butcher. It's only just occurred to me that her name is appropriate. 'Butcher-than-thou!'" We laughed together. "If I were you, and this is not legal advice of course, I'd tell her to go and fuck herself with a pineapple."

"I'll consider it."

"You do that. Are you still getting shagged by that Valerie?"


"How did you know?"

"Eyes and ears everywhere. I heard she moved in when she left her old man."

"She moved out again."

Rosie grinned. "Are you still on, er, speaking terms?"

"When she was living with me for those few weeks, sex was, to be honest, somehow lacking. I think it was the clandestine nature of it for her when she was still married that got her going."

"She needs to find another boyfriend."

I gave Rosie a grin this time. "She has,"

~

It wasn't long before I'd finished the draft of the feature and I went in to see my boss after he'd had a chance to read it. He liked it, but, as all editors do, he wanted changes which took me another day at my kitchen table. It was published in a Saturday edition and seemed to be well received.

The following week I was interviewed by the local news station about it. Fame! Warhol was wrong though, it lasted less than fifteen minutes. But the main benefit was that the boss wanted more similar material and so I was liberated more from the mundane stuff which suited me down to the ground.

But then came the bombshell, of which more later.

~

Val's new boyfriend, Dave, was something in the council's hierarchy. They had danced around things for a bit then he'd left his wife and moved in with Val.

At the time, I'd said, "Blimey, that was quick."

"I'm not getting any younger."

Now Val and I were having supper, an omelette with salad and a crisp Chablis, at my flat. "Where does Dave think you are?"

She squeezed my hand. "He thinks that I am with you, my best friend, and staying overnight so we can get plastered together."

"Does he think....?" I left it hanging.

"God, no. He'd be appalled."

"Good."

"Good? Why good?"

"Because you get off on the risk, the secrecy."

"Do I?"

I squeezed her hand. "When you were living here, sex was good. Before you moved in it was amazing. I think you loved the illicit. I was your 'bit on the side.'

"Did I cramp your style?"

"I was a good girl while you were here."

"Diplomatic side-step." She grinned. "Now, you have reverted to type?"

"I've never made any secret of how I am. And you," I kissed her cheek, "are you. You need a man in your life. We're both where we should be."

She took me in her arms and kissed me, gently at first, then harder and I knew the urgency was rising in her. She undid my blouse and reached inside to cup my breast, her tongue entering my mouth.

She took me to my bedroom and went straight to the drawer in which I kept her strapon. I think of it as hers although, to be fair, she is not the sole user. "Don't bother undressing, just get your knickers off."

As I did as she told me, she dropped her skirt and panties in one fluid move and strapped on, making sure I could see her nudging the little bulb that pressed against her clit. I got on the bed. "On your knees, facing the mirror. I want to watch your eyes."

I watched as she stripped of her blouse and bra, those lovely girls, so firm and shapely giving a little bounce as they were liberated.

"Watch me in the mirror."

If I hadn't already been wet, I should have been after that. I love her commanding mood, it's the real her when she is with me. She smoothed my skirt up over my back and spat into the palm of her hand, needlessly wetting the dildo for my already moist cunt. At times like this, her eyes became bright, animated. Her mouth was always slightly open.

"Ask me."

"Please, Val. Fuck me."


"What are you?"

"I'm your bitch."

She made me wait. She touched the head to my lips and held it there as her hands roamed freely over my arse.

"You are my bitch, yes." And, with a firm slap on my right buttock, she drove into me.

Watching myself getting fucked is, I am not ashamed to admit, a huge turn on. My blouse was open, my small tits moving a little in time with her thrusts which were becoming increasingly vigorous and accompanied by more firm slaps on my buttocks. But, for me, the biggest turn on was watching Val. Her tits, larger than mine, moved in unison, her dark nipples hard and proud. But it was her face that was the most exciting. Her nostrils were flared like an antelope catching scent of a predator, her eyes were bright and her mouth, half open, revealed her lust. I could see she was about to orgasm. I could feel it too, as her hands suddenly gripped my hips tighter, as if to support herself. The little bulb on her clit was obviously working its magic.

"Cum with me." Her order was almost a plea. Try as I might it was a command I couldn't obey. She suddenly bellowed, a primal roar of what? Ecstasy for sure. Conquest? Or, was it simply the joy of orgasm, enhanced by the illicit nature of our coupling?

Who cares?

~

I mentioned a bombshell earlier.

The press conference was a shambles. Ridley coming out as trans had caused a furore and feeding frenzy with representatives of national media as well as the poor local hacks who had to fight to get in.

A huge banner headline in a competing paper had proclaimed the Leader, Ridley, had made an emotional statement to their social affairs editor to the effect that he had decided after long and difficult reflection, to admit his sexuality; first to himself, then to his wife and children.

The public would understand, he claimed, that he needed to withdraw from politics to give himself a chance to reflect further and to come to terms with this huge upset in his life.

His life? Wife and kids might have a few things to think about too. Me, me, me, I thought as he repeated the same line at the conference.

I was standing at the back, still sore that I'd been scooped by another local rag. I felt a sudden pressure against me, and there was Butcher, smiling with her tigress's smile down at me.

"Pity you didn't get the story."

"I didn't get it because you made sure Ridley didn't give it to me. You shafted me because I challenged you."

Butcher leered. "Of course I did. If I can't fuck you one way, then I"ll fuck you another. Ridley had to come clean after he fired me because I told him if he didn't, I'd leak it and a lot of fascinating details to go with it."

"Why is politics such a cesspit?"

"Where would the fun be if it wasn't?"

And there lies the heart of the matter. Politicians, even the bad ones, love the mire that they operate in. The in-fighting and intrigue, the behind the scenes deals and disloyalty and corruption are what make it fun for them. Cynical? Me? As if.

"Will you ever stop lying?"

She gripped my wrist, hard. "Don't be naive. We have to lie. We cant say, 'I dont know.' Who'd vote for a don't know?

"Me."

"Then you're unusual. But then, we both know that you are unusual, don't we?" To my surprise she slipped a card into my satchel. "Call me. I have had my fun. Now I'll be your fairy godfather."

"You mean Mother."

"Do I?"

~

Some of those fascinating details that Butcher had mentioned did seem to leak slowly over the following weeks and I formed the strong impression that Butcher was deliberately dripping them to whoever her press contact might be in a successful bid to prolong Ridley's agony. She had, after all, threatened to castrate him if he fired and what better way to achieve that than this?

I am ashamed to admit it, but my mind kept wandering to Melanie Butcher. I have said that she was not beautiful but she was attractive in a very different butch way from Rosie. Rosie, as have said, was my view of dyke perfection. Butcher was scary: tall, very fit, super-confident and, I sensed, dangerous. I also felt that hint of danger to be exciting. No sooner had these thoughts entered my head than I pushed them aside. I knew she was a total bitch. I also knew she would be a fabulous source within the council but, then again, I was off the local government patch so why did I care?

But these thoughts would come to haunt me unbidden. No matter how I tried, they kept coming back. 'You mean Mother.' 'Do I?'

~

It was a Friday night and most of the excitement surrounding Ridley's revelations had subsided. I'd been working on a new feature about asylum seekers who had found success in our fair city.

That, however, is beside the point. Val was away. I hadn't seen Rosie for ages and I was rather in meed of some company. So I slipped into something I hoped might arouse interest. Black always works for me so a long black skirt and a black silk, sleeveless blouse that allowed my nipples to be caressed all evening. Handy if nobody showed any interest.

I popped into the Bell Tower but it was unusually quiet so, a gin and tonic inside me, I strolled down the quayside to the Sherry Cask and found it to be busier. I ordered myself a gin and tonic and stood, exchanging occasional words with Frankie, the barmaid. Frankie was another soft butch and happily married to a small, pretty woman, Eve, who also served at the bar. Many people had tried to chat Frankie up but i knew she was fiercely loyal to Eve so I never did. We were sort of friends because of that, I think.

"Jesus," Frankie said, looking beyond me towards the door. "Butcher's here. You know her?"

"Do I ever."

"She looks hot."

I half turned and took a look. It was rare for councillors to visit pubs like the Sherry Cask. Butcher was the exception. She positively flaunted her sexuality. She stood a short way inside the bar, towing over almost everyone and wearing a cream trouser suit with a black shirt. Her silvery grey hair was close cropped and she wore little makeup.

"She frightens the shit out of me."

I turned to discover Frankie was serving abate customer and hadn't heard me, so I took my drink and went to sit on a stool at one the high island tables. A few friends stopped in passing to share a few words. But it was Butcher I was watching, albeit covertly. She moved through the room, kissing friends, exuding friendliness. Her eye caught mine and she stopped in her tracks, looked away and spoke to someone then looked back and there was, I have to admit, a warm smile on her face and it went all the way to her eyes. She arrived at my table and, indicating the stool opposite mine, asked if she could join me.

"Yes, of course."

"Black suits you. Can I get you a drink?" You may know the feeling that when someone is being pleasant, you get suspicious. My hesitance may have alerted her to that. "I'm out to enjoy myself, not to engage in hostilities with a journalist."

"I'd like a gin and tonic please."

"Good choice." She went to the bar and returned a few moments later bearing my gin and a large whisky and ginger ale for herself. Her arm brushed mine as she placed my drink on the table and then she rested back on her stool and appraised me over her glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers, thank you."

She talked easily about the fact that she was no longer Deputy Leader. "Ridley was useless, we're better off without him. What are you writing about these days."

And so, to my surprise, we conversed. She was amusing, affable with a few shafts of surprising wit and humour. She leant forward. "Is that blouse silk?" I said that it was. "I bet it makes your nipples feel good. They certainly look happy." I was, as you may imagine, a little taken aback at the sudden change in direction. "I do love a woman who indulges her hedonistic side. Silk is such a sensual fabric, don't you think?" I made no reply and she seemed not to notice. "You're a good looking girl. How about we have supper?"

"Maybe, one day."


"Tonight."

"What's this all about, Melanie?"

She smiled. "I find you attractive and, I think, you find me attractive too."

"What makes you think so?"

"Well, for a start, you're still here." She wiggled her empty glass. "Another?"

"I'll get them." She didn't demur.

When I placed her whisky in front of her, she stroked my bare arm. "We're both 'off duty.' We're both gay and we have common interests."


"We do?"

"You may not realise it but, yes, we do."